


The Hedge in Between (Doesn't Last Long)

by strippinfor_eren



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Accidental Exhibitionism, Accidental Voyeurism, Bottom Miya Atsumu, Cock Warming, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Felching, Gaming, Incest, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Self-Indulgent, Smut, Top Miya Osamu, Twincest, lol how is that not a tag, miyacest, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27857666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strippinfor_eren/pseuds/strippinfor_eren
Summary: Like any other day, Miya Osamu finds his twin insufferable. On the flip side, there's nothing he wouldn't do for him if he asked nicely enough. When Atsumu feels he isn't getting enough attention, Osamu will rectify it however the situation allows, even if that means keeping his brother seated on his lap while playing video games.
Relationships: Implied Kita Shinsuke/Ojiro Aran, Miya Atsumu/Miya Osamu
Comments: 29
Kudos: 413





	The Hedge in Between (Doesn't Last Long)

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THE TAGS. This is a Miyacest fic, don't like don't read, and all of that other stuff.  
> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, nor do I have trouble separating reality from fiction. I do not encourage, support, nor endorse incest in the real world but consuming/writing problematic content about fictional characters is interesting to me, and I engage in things I find interesting.  
> Dec 11 2020: small tense and punctuation mistakes fixed, some sentences edited to flow better

Saturday’s are reserved for staying in and not doing anything but relaxing around the house for Atsumu and Osamu. Atsumu doesn’t have practice, and rarely has games on Saturday, while Osamu leaves it as a permanent day off unless there’s an emergency at his restaurant. They’ll flitter about the house, fighting and cooking and doing all the usual things that make it their home.

Around three in the afternoon, Osamu will hop on his Xbox or Playstation in the living room and start up whatever multiplayer game his friends choose for that session. They don’t know many people in the Osaka area, but Bokuto frequently joins, as well as whoever is free from their old high school volleyball team. It wouldn’t last for more than six hours, but to Atsumu that is a lot of wasted time. There are only so many hours in a day, and even less that they are actually awake for and could spend time together in. Staying up late isn’t something either enjoyed, no matter the activity.

So, when Osumu gets up from the kitchen table where they’re eating some gyoza for a late lunch after laying in bed all day, Atsumu’s foot falling from where it was resting on his lap, he trails after him with his last two in hand. He can sense the rolling of eyes even though he can’t see Osamu’s face, and glares at the back of his head while stuffing down the last of his lunch.

“Yer gonna sit and watch me play today, then?” Osamu phrases it like a question. There’s no point answering seriously but he does anyway.

Atsumu starts by teasing him. “Ya always offer. Are you taking away yer offer now? ‘Sides, whenever ya play games I always sit in bed or whatever. Mix things up every now and then, y’know?”

Osamu hums as he sits down, an acknowledgement to make sure Atsumu doesn’t repeat himself because he thinks his brother isn’t listening. Atsumu plops down beside him, sitting in silence as the console boots up. An Xbox day then. The window to the right of the living room is open, letting in a light breeze that cools the house down from the summer heat. The sun is still high in the sky and he can tell they’re gonna be here longer than usual now that the sun is up for longer. He watches as Osamu plugs in the headphones to his controller and checks who’s online, quite a few names pulling up. Before he can do anything else, an invite from Suna to a game of PUBG pops up, which is quickly accepted.

Pulling out his phone, Atsumu tries to entertain himself through the boring setup of getting their team together (Suna, Bokuto, Osamu, and after a few minutes of waiting, Kita joins, who plans to switch with Aran every other match) and finding a match. Instagram keeps his interest for a while, the sounds of curses and gunshots, as well as cheers and goads all background noise. He taps on a reel to try and pause it, forgetting the update that made it so tapping only mutes instead of pausing now, and scowls when it doesn’t do what he wants. Maybe he wouldn’t _have_ to pause it if people just slowed down their videos with lots of text to read. He doesn’t even attempt to watch the rest of it, closing the app to switch to Tik Tok. Might as well, since that’s what he was watching on the other one anyway.

It isn’t until Osamu is the one saying curses under his breath that Atsumu starts paying attention to the tv screen, considering he’s not one to get mad at games. Osamu’s character is reloading while he hides behind a tree, health low from the opponent shooting him. He’s the only one still alive on his team, 10 players in total alive - make that nine. There’s only two more bandages in his backpack, and one medkit that he’s probably saving for closer to the end. Atsumu is taken in by the gameplay at first, the players dropping every now and then though mostly hiding in the digital brush. Osamu takes out three of them, two more being killed by others. He gets bored of it quickly, shifting his eyes to watch his brother. Though his eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, there’s no sign of frustration or anxiety in his expression. Their eyes meet for a second as Osamu glances at him, turning back when Suna is uncharacteristically (when it comes to games, it’s characteristic the twins have learned) yelling at the brunet to move his ass to the circle before the other players get in position to snipe him when he goes to enter it. He downs the person that is shooting at him, not daring to take his time running over and looting as the circle closes in again.

“‘Tsumu quit staring, yer making me nervous,” Osamu mumbles, but it’s still loud enough to filter through his mic. “Hello, Atsumu,” Kita calls first, Aran’s voice coming through seconds later (it is Kita’s turn to play), then a loving “Hey, bitch,” from Suna. Bokuto says hi last, then mutes himself again -- probably to talk to Akaashi without disturbing them. Atsumu replies in kind, smiling and waving despite knowing they can’t see.

“Shut yer trap, yer good enough at the game, and -- oh there I go jinxing things again,” Atsumu mutters without sympathy as Osamu gets knocked then killed. The boys groan, upset they couldn’t be carried to a chicken dinner.

“Fuckin hell, I forgot why ya stopped joining. Every time ya speak up about someone doing fine, they end up dyin’.” Osamu slumps a little, sighing wearily.

“Time is it?” he asks, already readying up for another when Atsumu didn’t deign him with an answer. He continues his silent pouting for a second. “It’s almost 5.”

Osamu’s grip on the controller tightens when the next round starts, and Atsumu can’t help but stare at the veins showing up from the strength of it. It really shouldn’t be as hot as he thinks it is. “‘Kay. When you want dinner?” Because, yeah, Osamu is still the one who cooks dinner for both of them. It’s convenient, they don’t spend money on takeout but three nights a month, and at least one of those nights is when Atsumu tries making something new.

“Whenever you’re done is fine,” he lies, like the liar he is. Atsumu would rather have Osamu cuddling him or something of the sort at that very moment while they ordered take out. But tradition is tradition (the irony is not lost on him that he’d spoken about mixing things up just earlier), and he’s not going to keep Osamu from his only gaming time.

That doesn’t mean he won’t distract him.

For the next few rounds, all losses, Atsumu stays quiet and on his phone watching whatever video happens to be on his for you page. He lets his phone die, deciding to strike only then.

“‘Samu,” Atsumu says, his voice airy, leaning in to lay his head on said brother's shoulder, arms looping delicately around the busy arm so as to not block movement. It’s shaking a bit from flexing to move on the game, but it doesn’t deter him.

“‘Samu,” he repeats, this time slightly sing-songy but still just as light. He nuzzles his head, tugging Osamu’s arm softly, a silent request to wrap Atsumu up in him. Osamu obliges, but not without letting out a dramatic huff, lifting the appendage and settling it on Atsumu’s waist, forcing the blond to move closer so the controller isn’t held at an awkward angle.

“What’s got you all huffy-puffy, Sam-Sam?” Bokuto asks, using the nickname he was specifically told never to but still did because it matches Atsumu’s nickname of Tsum-Tsum. Osamu growls, and Atsumu can feel the vibrations from it.

“Don’t call me that, Bokkun. And it’s nothing, ‘Tsumu’s being annoying.”

Squawking indignantly, Atsumu slaps his brother on the chest. “You _always_ say that even when I’m doing nothing!”

“That’s because your existence is what annoys me,” Osamu says like it’s obvious. There’s laughter from everyone on the voice chat and Atsumu glares sullenly at the ground, crossing his arms.

“‘Tsumu, don’t be like that,” is whispered in his ear, Osamu’s mic pushed back so he can press a kiss to his cheek, red in faux anger. The blond pointedly holds his gaze in a staring contest with the floor, but he isn’t mad and they both know it.

Osamu pulls him closer, using his other hand to turn Atsumu’s face towards him, then plants a kiss on his lips. Atsumu can’t help but to sigh into it, eyes slipping shut. Osamu won’t let him deepen the kiss when he’s playing, so he makes no attempt to. After a few more seconds, the younger pulls back and smirks at his twin when his mouth chases for more. Atsumu almost pouts for real when he is refused.

“Good boys get what they want. If you can sit here for a little longer, I’ll let you have a little of what you want.”

And god does Atsumu want him. His Tik Tok for you page is predominantly filled with funny videos, but there’s also a lot of POV’s that leave him speechless and feeling the urge to have something inside him. Namely, Osamu. He wonders if his brother had been listening to any of them, since he was playing them out loud.

The time is nearing six when Atsumu can’t handle the bare minimum touch any longer. He sits up, throwing a leg over Osamu to sit in his lap.

“Ya shit. Stop it,” Osamu yelps, head looking around Atsumu to get a clear vision of the screen. He manages to not die in the time it takes for his brother to lay down on his chest and koala hug him.

“Fuckin hell,” he grinds out, jaw clenched, just barely stopping himself from telling Atsumu off when the others can hear him.

“You good, dude?” Aran’s voice comes through, seeing as they aren’t even fighting anyone. Osamu casts a glare at the cheeky lapful of a brother he has, answering maybe a bit too fast.

“Uh-huh, cat clawed my lap.”

Their cat, Gouda, is laying on the windowsill until she hears “cat” and lifts her head a few inches then goes back to sleep. Atsumu muffles his laughter into his sleeve.

They stay like that as the match goes on, and Osamu ends up being the first to die.

“Loser,” he says like he cares about the game at all. He grinds down now that it’s safe to do so without incurring wrath. His breath hitches as their clothed cocks press against each other, not even hard, but, oh he could be there soon enough. Osamu allows it, setting his controller to the side with his headphones after muting himself, placing his hands on Atsumu’s hips to help him move.

“I hope you don’t plan on me fucking ya when we’re playing, ‘Tsumu.” Osamu’s voice is full of warning. Atsumu fusses at the tone, blood rushing to his dick that much quicker and in moments he’s half mast. Osamu isn’t faring much better, the thought and feeling of his twin taking his own pleasure is hot enough to get his blood boiling. “‘Samu. ‘Samu just a little bit. Please just lemme have a little of ya. I’ve been good,” Atsumu unconsciously keeps his voice down, used to being quiet around others -- not that it occurs often with company. Osamu groans, hips rolling to meet his brothers.

Atsumu wants _something_ , anything he can get at this point. His plan is working much better than he thought it would for it being as simple as “get Osamu’s dick in me”, but can anyone blame him? “Fuck. Okay, okay ‘Tsumu, let’s try something,” Osamu relents, stilling Atsumu’s hips with his hands. He pushes against them, but fails to move. He opens his eyes, when he closed them he couldn’t say, and stares at the limbs struggling to pull down their owners sweatpants.

“How are ya feelin from last night?” Osamu asks breathlessly, pausing his ministrations, and Atsumu can’t even begin to act like he doesn’t understand exactly what he means. “All loose,” Atsumu pants, “like you could slide right in,” he concludes.

Quick work is made of the shorts the blond is wearing (which are his twins, unsurprisingly), along with his boxers until he’s left a flushed mess in just his t-shirt, hovering over Osamu’s lap so he can get his sweats down enough to pull his dick out. Atsumu reaches behind himself to press against his hole, testing the give and whether or not he could take it without prep after last night. It’s, predictably, not slick, and he gives a high whine when he can’t get his finger to slide in because he really does not want to stop and get lube.

“Shh, it’s alright ‘Tsumu, don’t force it,” Osamu comforts, palms sliding along the muscles of Atsumu’s thighs, making them tremble involuntarily.

There’s a call of Osamu’s name that makes him look at the screen and bite his lip. His team was waiting on him to confirm whether or not to start the next match. When had they died? Or had they won?

Atsumu is shaking from the effort it’s taking to not just slide down on Osamu’s cock, but he has to be good. Osamu said he’d only let him if he was a good boy.

“‘Tsumu, just wait, just wait, gimme a second,” the brunet is struggling to get his headphones back on, unmuting to say a quick “Go ahead” before he’s muting himself again. “Sit. Once I die I’ll go get some, promise.”

It’s the last thing he wants to do, but by some miracle he makes it through, hips moving of their own accord to lazily rub against Osamu’s stomach, arms tight around his shoulders. He’s met with encouragement, as well as scolding when he goes a little too fast. Things like, “Watch it, ‘Tsumu,” and “That’s good,” to let him know what to do.

If you ask Osamu if he dies on purpose, he will deny it entirely.

“Really, Sam-Sam? That guy was such a noob!” Bokuto says, offing the same person who got Osamu prior to looting both bodies.

The rest goes unheard as Atsumu is pulled away and set to the side, Osamu calling “Be right back,” over his shoulder. Atsumu waits impatiently, fidgeting while slumped over until Osamu comes back into sight from the bedroom doorway and he perks up. The look in his brother's eyes is dark, and Atsumu cannot wait for what he hopes is coming next.

Moments after he sits down again, Atsumu is crawling back onto him, shoving the sweats back down and watching with lidded eyes as Osamu lubes himself first, then passes the bottle to Atsumu. He wastes no time getting himself slick, and the ache inside him is filled little by little as he sinks down on Osamu’s cock. Finally, _finally_ , he’s getting what he wants. He goes to raise himself-

“Nah-ah, no. You’re gonna sit there,” Osamu commands. And then he’s turning his attention to his game like he hadn’t just also wanted to fuck his brother senseless.

“And be quiet, because I’m not going to mute every time you make a sound. Don’t want the other finding out you like taking your twin’s cock, are you?”

“They’d also find out you like dicking down your brother” is what Atsumu means to say, but all that comes out is a sound of minimal protest followed by “ _Ugh_ ,” when he leans to lay against Osamu’s chest and keep out of his way.

The press of his brother against his insides will always feel like coming home to Atsumu. The electricity as it slides in, the standstill he’s reached by just… sitting there. He’s achingly hard, and so is Osamu, and having to stay put is killing him. But he said he’d be good. And he will be.

“Ah shit, Bokkun, I’m out of ammo. The drop is close, let’s go get it.”

Osamu shifts to get more comfortable, pushing up a little more on the couch cushion and jolting Atsumu on purpose. He moans softly, grip on the back of Osamu’s shirt tightening.

“Of course they’re ignoring me,” Osamu mutters, but he isn’t remotely aggravated.

And it goes like that, the team ignoring Osamu through the games which ends up working out, because he gets frustrated and every time he does, Atsumu gets the brunt of it. A sigh into his neck followed by some kissing and sucking to leave marks, making Atsumu shiver and try to pull his thighs together even when spread on either side of his brothers. He has to shift his legs every now and then so they don’t go numb, biting his lip the only thing guarding the sounds he so desperately wants to release.

Once the clock strikes 8, Aran calls last game and the rest agree. Atsumu is no longer hard, simply enjoying the sensation of being filled. He can’t say the same for Osamu, who he’s sure has been tortured the entire time given the way he keeps grunting when Atsumu shifts to keep feeling in his legs. His mind has been empty, a free floating experience overtaking him about an hour earlier. It’s blissful, if anything, and he’s beginning to wonder why they have never done this before. Probably because Atsumu is too much of a brat to do it most of the time, but if Osamu had asked nicely enough…

“Almost done, ‘Tsumu, you hear that?” Osamu tells him, having noticed his squirming dying down and suspecting he is either sleeping or drifting. “You’ve done amazing, keeping my cock nice and warm for me.”

Atsumu hums, smiling into Osamu’s shoulder slightly and grinding his hips to tease. There’s no verbal response but he can hear and feel the loud exhale he releases.

He hadn’t been listening much before, but he does this round to at least try and understand what is being done. Mostly to see when he can finally get absolutely wrecked.

When the group is riding in a vehicle with Suna driving (which is a bad idea, Bukuto is the best driver they have in game while Kita is the worst, right after Suna), Osamu takes the time to brush his fingers around where they’re connected. Not expecting the touch, Atsumu jolts with an “Ah!” Osamu snickers, and it’s gone just as quickly as it came.

Aran’s tired sigh when he dies is followed up by a yawn, Kita in the background offering a “You did well.”

“You can win this, guys,” is the dull motivator given.

“Gee, thanks,” Suna mumbles.

“Uh-huh,” Bokuto says cheerily.

Osamu doesn’t say anything. They haven’t answered him anyway.

Top 20 closes in fast, the circle shrinking and sending a warning message about the next shrink. After Aran is gone, Suna drops just as quickly. Bokuto is currently carrying, Osamu down at 36 health with no kits or bandages to be found and ammo close to gone. But of course Bokuto doesn’t know that, or simply doesn’t care, since he won’t hand over any of the ammo that doesn’t fit his shotgun even when asked.

“Shit!” Osamu lurches forward when he’s downed, visibly mad for the first time tonight. “That’s such bullshit! I headshot his ass and he doesn’t die, unbelievable.”

Atsumu goes with, surprise forcing his mind to be alert so he doesn’t fall straight to the floor. Osamu apologizes swiftly, takes a calming breath, then takes the headphones off once more and presses the mute button.

“Alright, ‘Tsumu.” Osamu exhales, taking in the scene of his brother finally, _finally_. “I’m all yours.”

His eyes trail over Atsumu, who starts to grind himself down in search of friction. “Touch me, please,” Atsumu whimpers, turned on all over again but needing something to bring his dick to life. Osamu obliges, loosely wrapping a hand around Atsumu, just to get him hard. It only takes a few minutes.

Osamu ruts his hips up, groaning simultaneously with Atsumu. They find a rhythm, Atsumu barely mustering the strength to raise himself a few times, legs cramping, doing it nonetheless. He gasps when Osamu takes over, flipping them so Atsumu is laying on the couch, arms above his head and holding tightly to the cushion. He fucks into him ruthlessly, the sound of skin on skin swelling in the air. Atsumu’s expression clouds over in ecstasy, eyes bleary with unshed tears as small moans escape his parted lips. His legs clamp around Osamu’s waist in effort to pull him closer and hit that spot of nerves he keeps missing--

“ _Fuck_!” Atsumu wails, air leaving his lungs all at once. “There, there, th- mmf,” fingers shove into his mouth, pressing his tongue down to the point he thinks he’s going to choke, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“I’ve got you. You don’t have to do anything else, you’re doing perfect ‘Tsumu,” Osamu soothes, throwing his head back and moaning directly after.

“‘Samu, ‘Samu, ‘Samu,” chants Atsumu, a mantra he can’t bring himself to end. Osamu answers in kind, grunting his twins nickname, reaching his hand down to clamp around Atsumu’s weeping cock. Atsumu claws at the couch cushion, toes curling in ecstasy as he tips over the edge, coming all over Osamu’s hand and his own chest. He cries out, tears falling and small, pitchy _Uh-uh_ ’s tumbling out unbidden from the overstimulation of strokes and thrusts that follow.

“N-no more,” Atsumu mewls, body tense and mind on cloud nine. Osamu ignores him like usual, chasing his own orgasm, fucking sloppily into his brother then releasing a few moments later, hips snug against Atsumu to fill him up. He groans, milking it when he nears the end of his high, paying special attention to the way Atsumu sighs in pleasure, smirking at him from above.

“Fuckin cum slut,” Osamu drawls, not even joking, pulling out and watching with a frown as his come leaks out slowly.

“Hm,” Atsumu hums, not denying it. “Ya got me there, ‘Samu.”

“Yeah, good thing ya have me,” he mutters distractedly, fingers ghosting around the red, puffy entrance. Atsumu clenches, half-heartedly trying to get away from the touch.

“Stop it, yer gonna get it on the couch.”

“Clean it up then.” He’s not even implying anything, but next thing Atsumu knows, he’s blushing and Osamu is down between his legs, spreading them wide for access. “H-hey! That’s not what I meant!”

Osamu hovers his mouth for a second (“ _To be a little shit,”_ Atsumu would tell him), breathing heavily while locking gazes with his twin. Atsumu bites his lip and averts his eyes first, murmuring “Get on with it.”

The first press of his tongue has Atsumu clenching again, helpless to the hands pinning his legs apart. Well, since he can’t move his legs, he decides, he’ll use his arms. Atsumu cards his fingers through Osamu’s hair as he eats him out, face glistening from the lube, eyes lidded but never leaving Atsumu’s face. He starts to get hard again, fingers gripping the strands of hair to press him down harder.

“Um…” fills the silence that isn’t already permeated by quiet moans and slick sounds.

Osamu bolts up, face frozen in panic as one quick glance at the screen confirms that, yes, the team was still partied up, and _yes_ , the slash that should be through the speaker symbol next to his name is most assuredly _not_.

Atsumu hasn’t registered the voice, complaining loudly. “‘Samu, no,” he drags the last syllable out. “I was bein’ good, I didn’t even pull!”

Osamu hisses at him to shut up, smacking his leg and gesturing to the idle screen that still shows the full lobby.

“Is it bad to say I’m turned on?” Suna asks when Atsumu sits stunned, fear claiming him.

Kita reprimands him in his usual calm demeanor. At least, the twins hope that’s what he does because they don’t stick around to find out. Osamu turns the Xbox off promptly, mortified and mentally preparing himself for talking Atsumu down from whatever panic he works himself into.

It’s not until later, clock showing midnight when they’re laying in bed after a silent dinner and a shower where they don’t look at each other, that the group chat full of Osamu’s usual gamer buddies gets a message from Suna.

**You each owe me 5000 yen**

Another comes right after it:

**Except Kita**

And another:

**We called it**

**Author's Note:**

> If you pay close enough attention, you can see the mistake Osamu makes in his muting and unmuting that leads to his mess up ;) Any mistakes are mine, feel free to point them out
> 
> Come follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/quiet_slug) and watch as I rt literally everything and get inspired  
> 


End file.
